order of “myself and my neighbours.”
4. Upon this subject, see The Coming Polity, by Geddes and Branford. (Williams and Norgate.)
5. In his Greek Ideals.
But we have travelled so far from the simple amenities of the “region” and our minds have become so sophisticated in artificial and mechanical modernity that our recovery must begin in something akin to a spiritual renewal, in a new perception of essential human values. Economic change will not deliver us from the mechanistic obsession; and we shall only be saved from the inherent dangers of economic change under present conditions by a fresh recognition of the central principle of democracy. That every soul has equal worth carries with it the corollary that personality must be conceived as an end in itself and not merely as a means. It is our quarrel with the Junker classes wherever we find them, that they deliberately relegate large masses of their fellowmen into a sub-human category. Democracy is the direct denial of this posture. It affirms on the contrary that every man has a prescriptive right to stand on his feet unashamed, and to have full opportunity to become the whole man he may be. It ascribes to him certain liberties and a certain inalienable status among his fellows; and the employer who regards his men as “hands” denies democracy as directly as does the autocrat who regards his subjects as serfs or cannonfodder. In other words, democracy requires a specific type of personal relationship between men; and perhaps, its troubles are chiefly due to the fact that while it preached liberty and equality with no uncertain sound, it neglected to lay a corresponding emphasis upon fraternity. In truth, democracy is beset more perilously and more persistently by the inward enemy than the foe without—the inner enemy that lurks in men’s souls. For though there be a democrat in every man, there is also a potential aristocrat. The ultimate battle-ground of the democratic ideal is in men’s hearts. After the external enemies of democracy are defeated on land and on sea, democracy will have to go on fighting for its life in our souls. In this as in all things else, “the kingdom of heaven is within you.”
The personal practice of democracy is comparatively simple, as its central doctrine is. The equal worth of souls does not of course imply equal capacity; nor does the fact of unequal natural capacity do away with the truth of equal worth. It simply indicates the kind of world we live in. It is a world in which capacity is the measure not of worth but of obligation; and the law of life is mutual service. In one of the very few political allusions which Jesus made, He stated this point with much plainness. “Ye know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them and they that have authority over them are called ‘benefactors’ ” (as it was in the beginning, and has been ever since, when autocrats and their like have conceded to their subjects some fragment of the natural rights of which they have despoiled them and then have posed as “benefactors,” and when imperialists talk of conferring their peculiar Kultur on the “lesser breeds without the law”), “but,” said Jesus, “it shall not be so among you. He that is greatest among you, let him be the servant of all.” This is the authentic democratic spirit and the personal practice without which democracy cannot live.
It is not enough to pay lip service to democratic ideals—the sanctity of personality and the obligation of mutual service; or even to accept them in a spirit of pious sentimentalism. That kind of thing is already common enough. To the idealistic temper, we must attach the pragmatic habit, and translate our doctrines into concrete programmes of emancipation and co-operation. The city of God is not to be built with good intentions. Fraternity must be rendered into a polity. Yet even fraternity may perish in formality except it be sustained by a living brotherliness. It is the spirit that quickeneth. Democracy like every living thing must either grow or decay. If it stops at a political form or an economic scheme, then it must decline and die. It is only as its essential spirit captures our consciences and wills and its central principle is consistently and continuously applied that it can survive the perversity of our nature and the vicissitudes of history. It must become a crusade and a holy war.
Chapter II.
THE TESTS OF DEMOCRATIC PROGRESS
“The fundamental reform for which the times call is rather a reconsideration of the ends for which all civilised government exists, in a word, the return to a saner measure of social values.”—Lord Morley.
THE next stage in the realisation of the democratic ideal would appear to be tolerably clear. We are moving toward an extension of the democratic principle into the economic and industrial sphere; but is the movement governed by an understanding of the goal we have in view? Are we sure that our immediate policies are consistent with the “far gain” which we should seek? Or are we to regard progress purely as a somewhat blind experimental affair, largely beyond control? We are obviously moving—somewhere; the movement indeed promises to be an improvement. But are there any tests which can be applied to it in order that we may satisfy ourselves that the course we are on will land us safely in port?
I
Mr. Thorstein Veblen has rendered an important service to this generation by showing how the technology of the machine industry has invaded our minds and led us to an almost exclusive pre-occupation with processes. It is this intellectual bias which explains—at least in great part—our complete capitulation to the Darwinian hypothesis and accounts for the way in which we have pressed it out of its proper sphere to furnish clues in religion, history, and ethics—regions in which there are factors to be considered which are not included among the data of the doctrine of biological evolution. Here also is the explanation of the wide acceptance of the pragmatist philosophy. Pragmatism is indeed the characteristic philosophy of the machine-age; its postulate “that truth is what works” is clearly derived from the engine-shop, where efficiency is the only rule. Generally it may also be said that it is this mechanistic attention to processes which accounts for the importance and omnicompetency ascribed to the still juvenile science of psychology; and this is particularly true of the application of psychology and psychological method to the problems of sociology.
Psychology is the fruit of the application of the scientific method to mental processes; its subject matter consists of the observable phenomena of mind. Its application to sociology has produced an almost exclusive concentration on social functions; and while this has important uses, it does not furnish us with the clue we need to our sociological tasks. Mental functions, whether of the individual or of society, cannot be treated in the same way as chemical reactions. Chemical reactions are predetermined and invariable; human functions are dirigible. Those functions which ultimately govern and sustain human activity and determine human character are directed to more or less sharply recognised and chosen ends. It is indeed true that many of the processes which are concerned in the movement of life are, as Mr. Cooley has pointed out, unconscious and seemingly impersonal, such as those which account for the growth of tradition and the variations of language. Nevertheless, as Mr. Cooley himself very excellently shows in his illustration of the growth of a book in its author’s mind, even these unconscious and involuntary processes fall into line with a definitely fixed purpose of the mind.[6] The problem of sound social integration is not merely an affair of processes operating properly. For human powers may function, at least for a time, in a normal way even while they are being directed to mischievous and perverse ends. Modern Germany supplies an instance of unexampled attention to social processes; but it is not open to question that all this has been directed to a perverse and immoral end, and has (as the event has shown) culminated in catastrophe and confusion. Just so a man’s intellect may operate brilliantly; yet the man himself may
